


Untangling

by pinkish



Series: Suspended in Desire [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Panty Kink, a bit of, casturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkish/pseuds/pinkish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before the events of Softly, Quietly: Castiel discovers something of Dean's while doing laundry and has to face some assumptions he's made about the hunter and his own desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untangling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faeryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryn/gifts).



> I just couldn't let the panty!kink go. So here's roughly 1400 words of ridiculous plot and followed by just as much casturbation.

Neither Sam nor Dean had asked Castiel to help out with chores or expenses. When he asked what he should do to share the work of living in the bunker, both men shrugged and said that they had it covered. They were used to handling all the necessities themselves -- the years of living on the road with only each other had led to a finely tuned internal chore wheel, according to Dean. Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow and Castiel worried that he might have started an argument between the two brothers.

“What -- you think the chore wheel is unfair? You've got all the easy jobs!” Dean’s voice was gruff, but he was smiling.

“Oh come on, Dean! All of your _chores_ ,” Sam made quotation marks with his fingers (this confused Castiel, as Dean had made it quite clear that he wasn't to do that because it was _douchey_ ), “are things that you like to do, and I get stuck with the chores that are actually, you know, chores.”  
  
Dean threw a beer bottle cap at Sam, who dodged it easily and made the face that Dean insisted on referring to using a gendered slur.

Though the brothers continued to bicker (Sam made it clear that Dean’s assertion that grocery shopping was an easy chore was based on Dean’s incorrect assumption that he could purchase groceries at the local gas station), Castiel was pleased to see that it remained light-hearted.

“We’ll see how fun you think cooking is once you have to feed your massive ass,” Dean leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms smugly. "Maybe I'll take a break from making delicious food for you two assholes."

“We both know that the only reason I don’t cook is because you refuse to eat the -- and I quote -- useless fucking rabbit food that I make,” Sam said, rolling his eyes, “I will happily trade cooking for cleaning the bathrooms.”

“Nope. Not gonna happen. You’re stuck with cleaning toilets and eating burgers, Sammy.” Dean stood up and ruffled Sam’s hair on his way past him.

Sam rolled his eyes, and turned to address Castiel, “Seriously, though, Cas, we’re just so used to taking care of that kind of stuff. It never occurred to us to ask you to do any of them. And, honestly, I'm pretty sure you've already done more than enough for us over the years.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean called from the kitchen, “I think saving our asses counts as, like, a thousand loads of laundry.”

Castiel smiled, “I could say the same about the two of you.”

“Yeah, but--” Sam started to speak, but Castiel interrupted.

“Do you believe that I am incapable? I did live on my own for several months, if you remember.”

“Fine!” Sam threw his hands up in the air, grinning to show that his frustration was exaggerated, “If it means that much to you, you can do the laundry this evening. I was going to do it, but I wouldn't mind going for a run instead.”

Castiel was about to thank Sam for understanding when Dean popped his head into the dining room. “No fair -- if you’re taking Sam’s chore, you should take one of mine, too.”  
  
“What would you like me to do for you, Dean?” Castiel turned to face Dean, and the words came out more softly than he'd intended. That had been happening quite a lot recently, saying things to Dean more gently than he meant to.

Dean’s eyes briefly widened in surprise. It was barely noticeable, but Castiel had found himself noticing the hunter quite a lot as well. 

“Uh, never mind, buddy.” Castiel watched as Dean’s face slowly turned pink, “Sammy’s right -- I-I've got all the good chores.”

“As you wish,” said Castiel, but he regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth. Surely Dean knew the popular cultural referent for the words and would be upset to have another man say them to him. Instead of the expected rebuke (“Dudes don’t say that kind of thing to other dudes, Cas”), however, Dean just turned even redder and retreated back into the kitchen.

*     *

Castiel was still mulling over Dean’s confusing reactions as he was sorting and folding their laundry. He’d managed to figure out the machines fairly quickly, as the ones in the bunker were much simpler to use than the machine at the laundromat he’d gone to after the fall. He had also found a helpful tutorial on the Internet (Sam had shown him how to use YouTube to find videos of guinea pigs and it was fairly easy to use the same techniques to find virtually anything else) about how to fold clothing quickly and efficiently, and he was enjoying exercising his new skill, however mundane it was. Castiel liked to do things well. And concentrating on folding and sorting the clothes meant he wasn't concentrating how Dean’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks had made Castiel’s stomach flutter.

He deposited Sam’s clothes just inside the doorway of his room (“What did I say about personal space, Cas?”), but when he got to Dean’s bedroom he found himself walking towards the dresser. He was fairly certain this was not...appropriate, but figured he could explain that he put Dean’s clothes away since he didn't take on any of Dean’s chores. He was just trying to be helpful, right?

It wasn't a great excuse, but it was -- apparently -- too late, as Castiel had pulled open a drawer and began depositing shirts, jeans, socks, and boxers into the dresser. Just before he slid the top drawer closed he caught a flash of pink. He thought for certain that he’d imagined it, as he was fairly sure that Dean’s desire to be seen as masculine precluded wearing pink clothing, but it was still there when he pulled the drawer out again. He reached slowly into the back of the drawer and tugged on the pink material.

It was...surprising.

He felt heat pooling in his stomach as he felt the soft cotton, and he could feel his face warm when his fingers rubbed against the lace trim. Castiel realized that he was holding in his breath and let it out slowly in a sigh. He couldn't quite believe what he was holding, but there was no question that this soft, pink underwear belonged to the hunter.

If you asked Castiel why he didn't put the underwear back in the drawer, he would explain that he heard Dean’s footsteps coming towards the bedroom and panicked, choosing to pocket the underwear rather than embarrass Dean. That wasn't quite the truth, though. He had more than enough time to slip the underwear back in its hiding spot, but he wanted more time to look at them, to try to understand why Dean had them, and why they left him feeling flustered and (shamefully?) aroused.

“Cas!” Dean stopped in the doorway, eyebrows arched at the sight of Castiel at his dresser, “Whatcha doin’, buddy?”

“I thought that since I didn't take on any of your chores today, I would put your clothing away,” Castiel said, keeping his face blank and tilting his head -- he knew that made him look ... naive. Innocent. Not terribly honest.

“Uh. Thanks, but just drop them on my bed, next time, ‘kay?”

“As you wish,” Castiel couldn't resist using the line that had made Dean uncomfortable earlier, because something had shifted when Castiel found the underwear. If Dean was comfortable wearing items of clothing that were not considered “masculine” (he could still use air-quotes in his own thoughts, no matter how much Dean hated them), then perhaps he would be amenable to affection from Castiel?

Castiel knew that just because Dean had a pair of women’s underwear in his drawer didn't mean he was interested in him -- or any other men, for that matter -- but it opened up the possibility that Dean was not as rigid in his ideas about masculinity as Castiel had thought. And that meant he would have to reconsider some other assumptions. He had also assumed that he felt sexual attraction to Dean primarily because of his romantic feelings for the man, but the feel of the lace on his fingertips elicited desire that had nothing to do with Dean. Feelings that were more about sensuality and pleasure than love or lust.

When he got to his bedroom, he carefully closed the door and turned only the bedside lamp on. He wasn't ashamed of his response to the underwear, but he _was_ nervous about what those feelings meant and he wanted to ensure some measure of privacy as he contemplated them. It was hard enough trying to tease apart the affection he felt for Dean from the stronger feelings of jealousy, love, and regret that surrounded their relationship without having to deal with overwhelming _need_. He’d been able to keep those feelings under control (fluttering stomach notwithstanding), mostly due to the fact that he was positive those feelings would not be reciprocated. He knew that Dean Winchester loved him, but he never let himself think that it might be possible that the love was anything but brotherly. And since it wasn't possible, there was no point in dwelling on it.

But now there was.

He pulled the underwear from his pocket as he sat down on the edge of his bed. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of the different kinds of fabric. The cotton was smooth, with a gentle stretch. The heat that pooled in his stomach when he’d first touched the underwear came back in full force when he imagined pulling the underwear over his thighs. His fingers brushed over the tag and he rubbed the satiny material, enjoying the silky-smoothness of the fabric. He wondered if they made underwear that felt that smooth, and how it would feel against his skin. His heartbeat and breathing quickened as his arousal increased. He was hard now -- it wasn't a shock, as it had happened before...but it had always happened to thoughts of Dean. He’d never been aroused by an object or, perhaps more accurately, a sensation before. He stopped his exploration of the softer fabrics and held the lace in his fingertips. He pulled the lace through his fingers, feeling the material catch lightly on his callouses and enjoying the juxtaposition of softness and roughness.

Castiel brought the underwear up to his face and hesitated briefly before dragging the lace across his lips. His cock twitched and he let out a surprised moan at the intense desire the action elicited. He knew that human lips were sensitive, but it had never occurred to him that their sensitivity could be anything but practical. He understood humanity’s obsession with kissing better, now. If lace felt this nice, what would it feel like to brush his lips against Dean’s? How would it feel to press his lips against his stubbled jaw? Would he reach out to taste Dean’s skin? Where would Dean enjoy feeling Castiel’s lips? Castiel went through a mental list of other sensitive areas on a human body: fingertips, wrist, neck, chest, inner thigh, genitals. He wanted very much to feel...to feel what? Pleasure? He shuddered and realized that he had done enough contemplating and it was time to experiment.

Decision made, he removed his clothing in quick, smooth movements, depositing his dirty clothes in the now-empty hamper. He laid himself down on his bed, goosebumps blossoming across his skin -- due to the cool air, or arousal? -- and breathed deeply as he reached once again for the underwear. He’d already checked off fingertips and lips, so he swept the fabric across the tender skin on the inside of his wrist. Because he couldn't quite control the way the underwear fell on his skin, it felt more like a caress than when he’d explored the material with his fingers. He dragged the underwear up his arm towards his neck and shivered -- definitely arousal, this time, as his cock leaked pre-come.

He imagined that the whisper of the fabric was Dean’s breath ghosting across his skin, that he could feel the weight of the other man’s body hovering just above his own. He pulled the underwear lower, drifting across his collarbone (he moaned, pretending the soft scratch of the lace was the gentle scrape of teeth) and he let out a grunt of surprise when the lace caught on his nipple. He felt heat spread throughout his body as he brushed across the the sensitive nub again. He brought his hand down to his nipple and rubbed at it through the fabric, pinching it briefly and then circling his nipple once more with the barest touch of lace. Castiel let out a sigh as he pulled the underwear down towards his hips. He avoided touching his penis for now, dragging the material as far as he could reach before having to sit up. He brought the underwear to his feet, then, and pulled them up his calves, over his thighs, and held the waistband above his hipbones, not quite ready to give himself the pleasure of the material against his leaking cock.

A knock at the door startled him and he let the waistband go with an accidental snap -- he had to stifle a moan a the unexpected sensation and the frisson from feeling like he’d been caught.

“Sam’s got a line on a job,” Dean’s voice was gruff, almost strangled -- had he heard something? how long had he been outside the door? had Castiel broken yet another secret and illogical rule of homosociality? -- “but there’s no point driving through the night. Wheels up at dawn.”

“Okay, Dean. Thank you for telling me,” Castiel hoped his voice sounded normal, “I was just heading to bed anyway. I will, uh, see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, ‘night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel waited until the footsteps receded and he heard the sound of Dean’s bedroom door opening and closing before letting out the breath he’d been holding. His heart was pounding in his ears and he couldn't untangle the feelings of embarrassment, relief, and desperate arousal. They were, as far as his body was concerned, all the same feeling. The thought that Dean might know what he was doing -- that Dean might enjoy what Cas was doing -- was intertwined with the thought of Dean walking in on him, and the moment of uncertainty Cas would feel before he could tell if the surprise on Dean’s face was unhappy shock or pleased arousal.

Castiel was still almost painfully hard, and he looked down to see a small damp spot darkening the fabric. He held his lower lip between his teeth as he placed his hand on his cock. He had intended to bring himself pleasure slowly, but once he felt pressure on his skin through the fabric, his body took over.

Castiel moaned and flipped himself over onto his stomach, pressing his hips down onto his hand, and into the mattress. He couldn't decide between wanting pressure and wanting friction, so his body jerked erratically in an attempt to satisfy both desires simultaneously. He pushed his face into his pillow and grunted as his movements pushed the head of his cock across the lace and into his palm -- the head was slippery with pre-come and he found a position that allowed him to repeat the action. His other hand had been grasping the sheets but he needed more so he brought it down to press against his cock as he rocked into his mattress, to squeeze his testicles gently, to press against the base of his cock. He still wanted more, though, and groaned in frustration.

He suddenly realized he’d left a part of his body off of his earlier list, and pulled his knees up and apart slightly, trying to maintain the pressure of his cock sliding into his hand and reaching further back with his other hand. He tucked his fingers past the lace and underneath the fabric and stroked along his cleft until he felt the soft ridges of his anus.

_Yes_.

He was too far gone to be able to tell if he’d spoken out loud, too focused on the pleasure he could wring from his body: the pull of the elastic material on his skin, the slick slide of the head of his cock against his hand, the pressure of his fingers and the weight of his body against the length of his cock, the insistent _want_ and _more_ that each exploratory dip of a finger elicited.

He lost track of time, suspended in desire and hedonism, cradled in the luxury of doing something solely for the joy it brought him, and him alone. Eventually, with a fingertip exploring the inside of his rim and his hand alternating pressure on his length and head, he felt his muscles tighten in anticipation of his orgasm. He sped up and conjured an image of Dean watching over him, of Dean asking him to please himself, Dean telling him it was okay, it was good. That _he_ was good.

He was surprised by the intensity of his climax. He knew it would come and that it would feel good, but he never imagined...

He thought that, without his grace, he would never have access to the particular feeling that came when an angel completed their mission. Orgasm didn't quite feel like the suffused _rightness_ that would flow through an angel who knew they'd done their job well, but the pleasure coursing through his body during his release was the closest he’d come to feeling that since he’d raised the Righteous Man from Hell.

He felt heavy, sated, exhausted.

He should clean up, brush his teeth, set his alarm, try to get rid of any evidence of his activities, but he was too pleased and content to move more than he needed to to burrow under the covers. He wrapped himself up in his blanket and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

*     *

Castiel woke up feeling rested. A little sticky, but rested and happy. He felt contentment in his bones and a peace of mind that he hadn't known he’d been seeking. He stretched, feeling the pop of joints and the pull of muscles. The lace on the underwear he was still wearing tickled a bit against the soft hair below his navel, and he grinned, remembering how good he had felt the night before. He considered repeating the experience and was contemplating whether he would enjoy using the water pressure for more than cleansing his body when a loud knock jolted him from his reverie. Again.

“Wakey-wakey, lazy-ass! We’re heading out in five, with or without you!” Dean called from outside Cas’s door and Castiel froze. He couldn't _not_ go, because then Dean would ask why and Castiel was not in the frame of mind to come up with a believable explanation that wasn't the truth (and he wasn't ready for that conversation just yet). He jumped up, threw on his jeans and a t-shirt, and ran into the bathroom to wash his face, armpits (human bodies were _gross_ , sometimes), and stomach and quickly brush his teeth. He pulled on his shoes, hopping to catch up with the brothers as they picked up heavy bags of the supplies they’d need to take down whatever monster was waiting for them at the end of their trip. Dean laughed when Castiel leaned against the door of the Impala, breathing heavily, and handed Cas a mug of coffee and a bagel.

"You're really not a morning person, are you?" Dean said, shaking his head with a smile.

Castiel smiled back at Dean, grateful for the moment of friendship, affection, family. He manoeuvred himself into the back seat, careful not to spill the coffee, when he felt the tug of lace on the rough material of his jeans and realized that he’d never changed into boxers.

_Fuck_. 


End file.
